Two Variations on the First Night
by partiallyyours
Summary: Two different ways their first night could go.
1. Awkward

As soon as they'd finished their dinner, she'd silently gathered the dishes to wash them. He offered to help, but she smiled and shooed him away, suggesting he "put his feet up" or "read the newspaper."

As though he'd be able to.

It was their wedding night.

He knew he had a duty to her. And he did consider it a duty. No amount of convoluted machinations would allow his mind to even consider the idea that she _wanted_ him. He was an old man. He admitted it to himself now. But she would expect it. He knew that. It was essential to make a marriage binding. The words _unconsummated marriage_ had been floating through his nightmares ever since they'd decided to be wed in their retirement.

"To ensure your security," and "for legal reasons" and "if anything should happen to me" were a few of the phrases they'd uttered to one another when they discussed marriage.

After she'd finished with the dishes, she immediately began to organize their new home with an industry unique to women of her profession. He looked at her over his newspaper every now and again, wishing he could help her in some way. But he was a fish out of water here — in his own home. He was not helpful to a woman of such capability. She could devise, organize, and execute plans of baffling magnitude in the time it would take him to polish a tray. And so he sat, occasionally leaving his chair to reach something for her or to move a piece of furniture.

She'd stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, surveying her work before turning to him and telling him she was off to bed.

"Yes," he coughed. "I'll be along shortly." His heart pounded in his chest.

"All right." She'd managed the first word fairly well, but her voice stopped working halfway through the second.

After they both studiously ignored the obvious sign of nerves, she went to get herself ready for her wedding night.

In their bedroom, she sighed to herself. Without a doubt, she knew that Mr. Carson considered this part of marriage to be a duty, something that needed to be done. Oh, she knew that he would be kind and as gentle as he could be. But there would be no passion between them. She didn't fool herself by hoping that he would simply wish to lie next to her. No. Mr. Carson would observe the formalities, however distasteful and embarrassing he found them.

Just as she lay down on the bed and pulled the sheet over herself, now dressed in only a thin, cream-colored nightgown, he came into the room. She was surprised by the fact that he'd already changed into his own nightclothes. He must have placed them somewhere in the house so that he could dress away from her. _So chivalrous_ , she thought bitterly. It seemed grossly unfair that this should have to be a part of their lives. She didn't want to lie with a man who didn't want her. Every other part of their new lives was immensely appealing to them both. The freedom, the ease, the privacy. They were all well-earned, and it seemed unfair that they should have to pay such a steep, additional price with this awkward and unwelcome coupling. Her gut twisted at the thought of this man whom she knew so well pressing on top of her when he didn't want to be.

It would have been easier, she realized, if she didn't love him. If she didn't want him so much, her heart wouldn't be threatening to rip itself apart when she thought of him "doing his duty" on top of her. If only she could have told him that this wasn't necessary. But there were two problems with that plan.

· One: she knew that no matter what she said, he would think that it was his (almost legal) duty to bed her.

· Two: she was too overcome with embarrassment at the thought of entering into such a conversation.

So there they were.

She stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was something she was supposed to do to show her willingness (Turn slightly? Loosen her death grip on the sheet over her? Open her eyes?), or if it was proper to simply stay absolutely still until he reached for her. He settled into the bed next to her and pulled the sheet over him so that they lay on their backs, side by side.

And he did reach for her. He knew it was useless to hope that she might give him some sign of her readiness. No, this was his responsibility and he knew that it was only proper that she not reach for him. He'd tortured himself with frantic wondering about how he should first touch her. Should he kiss her? No, that would be highly improper, he thought. She would want it over and done with as quickly as possible. Touching her _anywhere_ seemed improper. A shoulder? He might as well be asking for her to pass the salt. Her face? Far too intimate. Her hand? He wasn't a schoolboy. Her legs and breasts sang their siren song to him and he angrily pushed the melody away. Finally, he settled on her midsection. While he was still on his back, his hand snaked under the sheet to land on her stomach.

Her breath stopped and he nearly pulled his hand away. But then her fingers were there, lightly landing on the back of his hand. He prayed it was permission, because if it was a precursor to removing his hand, his heart would break. Though he knew to make this as painless and fast as possible for her, he struggled with the desire to show her the passion he held for her. He hadn't realized that he loved her until she'd agreed to marry him. So now here he was, trying to make love to his wife without burdening her with his love.

He'd been worried about his ability to rise to the occasion, knowing that her disgust must be nearly overwhelming her. But when his fingers had settled against the softness of her middle, and he could feel the fabric of her nightgown give way under his hand, he was instantly hard.

Not slowly and not quickly, he moved on top of her. He made sure to keep the sheet over them to protect her modesty. She tried to widen her legs to accommodate him, but her gown got in the way, and they had to shift about to get him to settle against her.

Neither one of them knew where exactly to put arms or legs, so there was uncomfortable shifting and soft apologies as hair was snagged and limbs were tangled. He held himself up with one hand while he pushed down his bottoms. Almost in tears from the discomfort (emotional, not physical — not yet) and the horrible disconnection she felt from him, she reached a hand to his still clothed arm. He stopped moving instantly at her touch and she removed it just as quickly as she had placed it there. Clearly, he didn't want that. It seemed to have been an intrusion into his concentration.

He'd been stunned when she touched him. He'd almost reached for her hand before she took it away. After waiting a moment and praying in vain that she might give him some further encouraging sign, he continued with his monumentally awkward attempt at pushing down his clothing and trying to pull up her gown without making it too obvious that he was doing so. _Ridiculous_ , he thought. Who was he fooling? Why try to hide what he was doing? There were only the two of them there. Why did it have to be this way?

She desperately wanted to help him, respond to him, encourage him. But she couldn't. She guessed he was just barely holding in his disgust now, and if she were to make any move, he might give up altogether. And so she let him continue fumbling about, not able to help him in the slightest.

Her eyes were still closed and her hands were at her sides when he'd finally gotten their clothing to where he thought he might be successful. Her legs were open for him, but her knees were scarcely bent, making it a tight and uncomfortable fit for him. Amazingly, even after the agonizing minutes of awkward positioning, he was still ready for her. To spare her any possible embarrassment, he closed his eyes in case she opened hers. He knew she wouldn't want any eye contact with him and would want him to hurry as much as he was able.

He pressed himself against her.

She stopped breathing.

He pressed harder.

And got nowhere.

She was dry and tight and her legs were not in a helpful position for entering her. He thought that if he could reach down and gently pull her lips apart—he jerked slightly forward at the thought and she gasped at the pain of it.

He couldn't help but open his eyes then to look frantically at her face. Her eyes were still shut tight, but now she held her bottom lip in her teeth, and she looked for all the world as though she were trying not to cry.

Of course he couldn't reach down to touch her. He couldn't touch her there!

Again: _ridiculous_ , he thought. He _was_ touching her there. In the most intimate way possible. But somehow he thought pressing his fingers against her would be too much. Too far.

And so he tried pressing into her again with steady, gentle pressure. The only result was a stifled whimper and a tightening of her thighs. He stopped again and waited, gathering the strength to continue.

She knew to expect pain, and she'd been trying to keep silent, thinking that she would help him in the only way she could. At his stillness, she opened her eyes and looked into his face, clouded with misery. His eyes were closed now, in concentration. It was enough. She would end this.

After placing a hand on his forearm, she said, "Mr. Carson?" The words hardly made it out of her throat. He looked at her, his eyes full of pain and his brow furrowed. When their gazes met, they simultaneously wished that the bed would swallow them whole.

"Mr. Carson," she bravely continued. "You—you don't have to do this. If you don't—don't want to."

He bowed his head, sighed, and pulled away from her. He was still between her legs, but was no longer on top of her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I understand." She was a hair's breadth away from tears and she hoped their conversation would end soon so that she could shed them silently when they turned away from one another.

He didn't want to give up. He could tell that she did, but his selfish side still wanted her, and he tried to think of a way to make it happen. After a few silent seconds, he set aside his terror of her rejection and asked her,

"What can—can I do…to make this bett—easier for you?" he stumbled.

Her words came out in a stutter as she still fought to keep her tears at bay.

"Tru—truly, Mr. Carson, y-you don't h-have to."

He looked at her. And tried to read her mind.

Would it make a difference? Was it possible that she would be willing? If perhaps she knew just a little of how he wanted her? Did she think this was only a chore for him? Until a few minutes ago, he had thought so, too. But when he'd laid his hand on her, he wanted not only to take her for himself, but give himself to her, as well.

"I want to," he said.

Stunned silence rang through the room.

"You — you want…" she couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes," he nodded as he looked down at the bed. "I'm sorry." He didn't quite know what he was apologizing for. For laying the burden of his love at her feet? For pressuring her into doing something she didn't want to do? For trying to get her to make love to an old man?

While his tortured thoughts ran wild, she said,

"I want —"

His head snapped up. Something in her tone made him believe (wildly, and just for a moment) that she would be willing. More than willing. Wanting. He looked to her, a question in his eyes.

Unable to speak, she answered him with a nod. When his face still showed his disbelief, she took a deep breath and sat up on the bed. They knelt before one another now. Slowly, still terrified, she lifted her hand to place it gently on the side of his face. As soon as it landed, he brought his own hand up to cover hers.

"Will you say it?" he asked gently, letting his face show his need for her. He knew he asked too much. This must be torture for her. But he was past pride and he resorted to begging. "Will you say it for me?"

She swallowed and lifted her other hand to play idly with a button on his shirt. Staring intently at the button between her fingers, she said,

"I want to."

He sighed in gratitude and covered her other hand with his.

Then he had a world of possibilities open to him. He could see that she expected him to kiss her. And he would. But he wanted to prove to her how much he wanted her first. If he were to show her with his kiss, he knew he would let himself get carried away by her lips and he might frighten her. So he chose a different way to prove his desire for her.

Slowly, he slid his hands off of hers. Looking directly into her eyes, he placed his palms on her thighs. She gazed back at him, showing him with her open, longing expression how welcome his touch was. Slowly, so slowly, his hands slid down her thighs to reach for the hem of her nightgown. At a speed that he hoped was reassuring but not frightening, he lifted the hem, exposing her skin to his gaze.

She lifted her arms to accommodate him and then the garment was gone, tossed to the side and forgotten. He stared deliberately at her body, making an effort to prove both to her and himself that things between them were different now. Now they wanted one another. Now they were not simply doing their duty. When he met her gaze again, the fear was back in her eyes.

Calmly, assuredly, he laid her down on the bed and positioned himself next to her. He knew how to banish her fear. She was afraid she would not be enough for him. He was familiar with the thought. Hadn't it been at the center of his every nightmare for the past months?

First, his hand touched her soft skin, just as it had done mere minutes ago, when she still wore that cursed gown. At her sharp exhale, he looked up at her face. Seeing his concern, she closed her eyes and nodded, telling him without words to continue. And he did. First to her side, then back to her belly, he kept his palm on her and his pressure firm, letting her know in no uncertain terms how much he wanted to touch her.

He let himself take a moment to marvel at how his outlook on life could change so drastically in only a few minutes. Just moments ago, they were both awash in misery, afraid even to look at one another. And now, his hand had taken possession of her skin, and, even in the moonlight, he could see the flush of it, reassuring him that she wanted his touch. He let himself appreciate how her breath came to her in gasps and left her in sighs. He would find out which parts of her, when caressed, would make her sigh for him.

After exploring the skin of her belly, sides, hips, and thighs for many wonderful minutes, he placed one hand on her breast, holding it gently. A short, high hum, almost a whimper, was his reward. Firmer now, he leisurely and thoroughly explored her breasts. He wanted to hold them both at the same time, but then he would have to move over her again, and he didn't think she was ready for that. So he shifted so that he was lower in the bed. And, keeping a hand on her breast, he pressed his lips against the creamy skin of the other.

A full moan was the reward for that caress, and he smiled against her breast. His smile vanished, however, when her hand flew up to the back of his head and grabbed his hair. In no way could it be interpreted as a command for him to stop. It was lustful and passionate and it drove him near to madness. She wouldn't wait much longer for him, nor did he want to keep her waiting.

As though a switch had been flipped when she drove her hand through his hair, he instantly pressed harder against her. His pace changed from leisurely to frantic. His leg went between hers. He wasn't fully over her, but he was able to reach more of her than when he lay completely at her side. He fondled her breasts and she cried out at the deeper pressure. He swore under his breath when she cried out fully that first time, then he rapidly dropped his head to suck at her nipple. Her knees bent of their own volition when he pulled her nipple into his mouth. She cried out again. Then again when he gently pinched her other nipple while still tonguing the one he currently favored.

When he decided it was time, he pulled his hands away from her and hopped off the bed. Breathlessly, she watched as he undressed. He noted with pleasure that she looked almost drugged while she watched him. Embarrassment gone, she didn't even attempt to hide the fact that she stared wantonly at him as he showed her his body for the first time.

And when he climbed between her legs for the second time, there was no awkwardness, no fumbling, no pain. She reached for him and pressed herself against him while she delighted in having him in her arms for the first time. He hadn't kissed her yet, but it didn't stop her from pressing light kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his eyebrows as he settled himself against her.

This time, when he pressed the head of his swollen, throbbing, aching cock against her, there was heat and slick moisture and her arching back begging him to come inside of her. Placing his hands at her sides, he leaned over her while slowly moving his hips to rub the head of his cock against her. She moaned and thrashed her head against the pillow. With her arms and her legs wrapped around him, she tried to pull him to her, but he said instead,

"Elsie, open your eyes. Look at me."

She obeyed, still moving her hips erratically.

"Kiss me," he said.

And when she met him halfway to press her lips against his, he pushed into her. Slick, hot, and tight, she seemed to be made just for him. He groaned against her lips as they sank back down onto the bed together. He was fully inside of her while they kissed passionately for the first time. Thinking that he needed to give her time before he began moving, he tried to hold still. But she was teasing his lips with her own, making the task almost impossible. And the fact that she didn't even try to stop her hips from rhythmically pushing up into his made him surrender altogether. With sure, firm thrusts, he began to make love to his wife.

To show his appreciation for her legs wrapped high and tight around him, he caressed her thigh while he thrust his tongue into her mouth. When his free hand began roughly massaging her breast, she swore aloud and dug her fingernails into his back. If he hadn't been so close to coming, he would have smiled at her colorful language.

With every thrust, she could feel herself building towards release. She didn't even entertain the thought that she might be embarrassed by her actions in the morning. All that existed in the world was this bed, this man, this moment in time. The only thing she could think about was meeting her husband thrust for thrust, moan for moan, kiss for kiss.

She guessed (accurately) that he was close to his release when his pace grew faster and more erratic. He leaned down on his elbows to kiss her again, knowing he was close. It was probably because of the wretched distance between them only a little while ago, but he was desperate to be as physically close to her as possible. So he slid his hands underneath her back and held her tightly to his chest. He pressed his lips to her ear, and when he nibbled the lobe, the combination of him holding her and the entirely new sensation of his mouth on her ear sent her careening over the edge of her orgasm. She stiffened and shuddered with it, and he was in awe. Unashamed and full of pride, he watched her face while she came. He'd done this. He'd taken her to this place. She wanted him and he'd given himself to her.

When she stopped shaking, it took him a moment to realize that she was quietly weeping and saying, "I love you. I love you," over and over again. Her voice was low and he could barely make it out, but he heard it. And it made him come instantly. He swore and moaned while he emptied himself inside of her. She held him tight and tried to match his rhythm as he slowed. When he was finished, he lifted himself just enough so that he could take her face in his hands. He wiped her tears away with his thumbs.

Looking deeply into her eyes, he told her, "I love you, too."

Crying, she kissed him while he rolled to the side, taking her with him.

She groaned at the new, but oddly sensual feeling of him sliding out of her. He first thought to lie on his back with her curled at his side, but it seemed to be too far away from her, so he only rolled to his side. She wrapped her arms around him and he did the same so they could fully press against one another. Her hands roamed over the skin of his back and his bottom. His did the same and every few seconds he would press her into him, as though assuring himself of her presence. She gladly accepted and fully returned his embraces.

He marveled at the smooth softness of her skin as he explored the backs of her thighs, occasionally dipping a finger between them to feel the wetness there. In response, she wrapped her leg around his. He brought his hand between them and slid it down until his fingers were at her curls. Her hips jerked when she felt his fingers on her still sensitive flesh. But they jerked toward him, and she moaned an invitation to him. He learned quickly what she liked. His fingers slowly caressed and circled and explored. When he first slid a finger inside of her, she clutched his arm and moved her hips to take more of him. In a drugged haze of arousal, he pressed his thumb against her clitoris, and after a while, she came in his hand, gently this time. She whispered his name, his first name, for the first time, and he kissed her while his fingers slowed.

Exhausted, she pushed him back so that she could lie on his chest. He pulled her leg so that her thigh was draped over his. Sweaty, sticky, and spent, they fell asleep wrapped tightly around one another.


	2. Confident

"Mr. Carson?"

"Yes?" he looked up from his paper.

"I've been wanting to ask you something." She paused, waiting for his acknowledgement. "I waited until after we were married because I didn't want you to think it would have swayed my decision one way or the other."

"Hmm," he said, smiling as his face showed that he was trying to imagine what her question could be.

She smiled back at his playfulness and asked her question.

"Would you like for us to be lovers?"

Her head tilted to the side, indicating her inquisitiveness. She looked softly at him. She'd planned the words carefully. Her preface would tell him that she was open to both of his possible answers. Her unfailing gaze would convey her calm trust in him. The only sign of her nervousness was a number of small white splotches on the skin of her hands where her fingers pressed the blood away from one another.

He noticed.

Maintaining his thoughtful gaze on her eyes, he deliberately folded his paper and set it aside.

"Would you?" he responded.

She laughed.

"A stalling tactic if ever there was one!"

Not quite able to manage a laugh, he smiled sincerely at her before answering,

"Yes. I would."

His eyes flitted from her face to her lap, knowing that her grip on her hands would tell him which answer she'd been hoping for.

Pink flowed back into her fingers as they released their hold.

He sighed with relief.

"Well then," she said calmly. "Don't you think you ought to kiss me?"

"Yes I do," he agreed.

They could have been discussing the cost of butter.

"Come here," he reached a hand to her so that she would join him on the sofa.

"Why don't you come here?"

"You're in a chair!"

"So?"

"A chair for _one_. I'm on a sofa!"

"I must say all this hedging has me doubting your determination."

"Mrs. Hughes," he purposely called her by her maiden name, happy to continue their banter.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Try again," she ordered.

"Mrs. Carson," he smiled roguishly.

"Better," she said.

He stood and walked to her. With his hand out, he said,

"Elsie."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" he asked as she took his proffered hand.

"Yes, everything."

He reached for her other hand and pulled her up to stand in front of him.

"You're quite short, you know," he said in a low voice.

"Says the man who has hit his head on every door frame in Downton Abbey."

"It will probably be a great strain on my back to kiss you," he said in a falsely worried tone.

"You're a strain on my nerves, Mr. Carson," she replied archly.

"We should look into a stool for just this purpose," he said thoughtfully while his hands slid up and down her back.

"A smarter man would have suggested laying me down to kiss me."

His playfulness faltered then as he dropped his head to look at her.

She lifted her eyebrows as if to say, 'Well, what are you waiting for?'

He picked up her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her palm.

"My darling wife," he began and her heart leaped at the unexpected, and clearly sincere, endearment. "It pleases me greatly to know that you will always get the better of me."

She had to clear her throat before answering him as his lips on her palm seemed to have a paralyzing effect on her voice.

"You should be very happy in our marriage, then."

He hummed his agreement and released her hand so that he could touch her face.

And they kissed. First once, then again, and again, until she was winding her arms around him and stretching up on her tiptoes.

When his tongue sliding along her bottom lip didn't immediately get the response he wanted, he pulled his head away and ordered,

"Open your mouth."

"Wh-" she didn't have time to ask anything before he was at her lips again and she obeyed without thought, shocked when he thrust his tongue inside of her mouth. She felt an idiot, but knew he didn't mind her inexperience.

After a few minutes of the kind of kissing she had thought only existed in novels, she began to feel weak in the knees. While she was pressing kisses to his neck, she said in a tone of voice he'd never heard from her,

"Are you going to kiss me in the sitting room all night long or are you going to take me to bed?"

He smiled at her invitation and led her by the hand to their bedroom. He stopped once along the way to push her up against the wall and kiss her forcefully while pressing his hands against her corseted breasts, giving her a clear idea of his plans once they'd gotten to their bedroom.

He turned on the light in their bedroom and sat on the end of their bed. He looked hotly at her and said,

"Will you undress for me?"

Her eyebrows shot up and she asked, "You want to watch me undress?"

"Oh, yes," he said with a sigh. "Very much."

"All right," she laughed. Her surprise made it sound suspiciously like a giggle.

She reached for a button on her dress, then frowned and said,

"You should take your shirt off, too."

"I want you to do that," he answered plainly as he stared at her hands. They were currently resting at the buttons that would uncover her breasts.

She paused as she took a moment to appreciate the power he was giving her. Honestly and bravely he was telling her how much she affected him.

And then she began to undress. Not quite as efficiently as she might have done when she was alone. Perhaps she lingered at the ties of her corset when she saw how he readjusted himself on the bed. And she didn't usually stretch like that after she'd taken off her corset. If she were alone in her room, she would have no need to emphasize the fact that her chemise outlined her breasts and allowed the color of her nipples to show.

"Christ," he swore when she seductively pushed her breasts toward him.

She walked to him then, making sure he was aware that she noticed the erection straining his trousers. Stepping between his open legs, she said,

"Touch me."

His hands instantly went to her breasts. Her head fell back and she clutched his arms. He pressed them, he massaged them, he ran his fingers and his thumbs over her nipples. He asked her softly what she liked and she answered him with whispered, 'yes' and 'right there' and 'oh, god'.

"Let's take this off," he murmured, reaching down to the hem of her chemise.

She smiled and instead of taking the gown off over her head, she released the straining tie near her breasts and let it fall to the floor.

It had the profound effect on him that she had hoped it would.

"Jesus Christ, Elsie," he rasped. "Jesus."

"What about him?" she asked breathlessly.

He looked up from her breasts to her flushed face and said with a shake of his head,

"Nothing. Not a damn thing."

And he reached for her hips to bring her close enough so that he could latch onto her breast.

"Fffuck!" she moaned. "That's – yes...I had no idea...don't stop...don't..."

He pulled her down to straddle him and she pressed herself against his erection. He groaned in frustrated appreciation.

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to finish right now," he growled.

"We don't want that," she agreed and reached down to undo his belt buckle. When she freed him from his trousers, she reached down to stroke him through his boxer shorts. His hips jerked and he moaned in ecstasy.

"Do you like that?" she asked. Something about her tone, not trying to be seductive, but genuinely anxious to know, aroused him more than anything she could have said.

"God, yes," he groaned. "Don't stop."

"Would it be better without your shorts?" she asked.

Rapidly, he reached down to remove them. She helped him, removed the rest of her own undergarments, and then she stopped to stare at his hardness. She'd never seen a naked man in this state, and it was an awesome and intimidating sight.

"Would it hurt—can I touch you?" she asked, unembarrassed and unafraid.

"Yes, Elsie, but—not too much or I'll come too soon. I want to be inside of you the first time."

She nodded. "Yes, I do too. Just tell me."

He nodded, proud of his brave and forthright wife. Of all the possibilities he'd imagined of their wedding night, the two of them speaking candidly about their shared desires was not one of them. He threw a prayer of thanks towards heaven and asked forgiveness for all of the times he had taken and would soon be taking the Lord's name in vain.

Her hand wrapped firmly but gently around him. It fascinated her. Like steel wrapped in silk. She fluttered her fingers over him and she wondered at the almost overwhelming desire she felt to wrap her lips around the swollen head. Was that normal? Would that hurt him? She'd no idea. So she asked.

"Can I put my mouth on you?" she looked to him with an inquisitive brow.

Shocked, he looked down at her and his cock twitched in her hand at the thought of her lips wrapped around him. She noticed and gave him a surprised and amused look. He smiled back as if to say, 'Yes, it will do that.'

"You want to?" he croaked.

"Yes," she paused. "I don't know why. I just do. Would it hurt? Is that something people do?"

He had to take a deep breath to stop the orgasm that nearly came. She still stroked him as she spoke and he had to force himself to speak coherently.

"Yes. It would be amazing, wonderful. It is something people do, though I've never experienced it."

"Oh, good," she said. "I was beginning to think I was awfully strange. I'm glad I'm the first to do it for you. And the only," she added as a pleased afterthought. She ran her fingers over him once more and said, "Are you ready?"

He nodded, unable to speak.

And she bent her head to him and placed her lips on the head of his cock.

"Fuck!" he grunted.

She didn't take her lips away, though she did look up to see his hands clenched in the bedsheets. She slid her lips down and took the head of his cock into her mouth. He groaned. It was better than he could have ever imagined it. Even in his most erotic dreams, it hadn't been close to this. And then she started swirling her tongue around him and he was no longer capable of thought.

She marveled at the power she had over him. She loved that she could do this to him with just her mouth and her hands. She loved the hot, silky feel of him against her tongue.

"Shit," he swore. "Stop, Elsie, stop. Christ, I can't hold it…"

She was over him in an instant, one hand on his chest, supporting her weight, and the other hand reaching for his hardness to guide it inside of her. She shuddered at the strange, new sensation as she slid down onto his throbbing cock. She had to sit still for a moment until she could control the tremors and he was grateful. It gave him extra time to hold in his release.

She opened her eyes to look at him.

"What should I do?" she asked him. Her words were punctuated with the pauses caused by her intermittent and involuntary convulsions around him.

He groaned at her beautiful openness with him. His hands were pressed firmly into her hips and he said,

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to move," she answered instantly.

At those words, he grunted as he thrust up into her. She cried out as she felt him pressing exactly against where she throbbed and ached to be touched.

"Ah, God!" she yelped.

He stilled again.

"Like that? Is that…" she was losing her ability to think clearly.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, move how you want to move. It will be right."

And she trusted him. So she moved her hips forward as she'd been aching to do ever since she'd taken him inside of her. And her reward was instant. In both the sensation that coursed through her from her center and in the response he gave at her movement.

Back and forth she slid her hips, gaining speed and courage. She learned which way to position her body to put the pressure where she wanted it.

And as the momentum built, she could feel her orgasm building quickly. In time with her

movements, she stuttered,

"I…I'm…I'm…going…" and she cried out her release.

"Yes, yes, my god you're beautiful," he encouraged her with his words and his hands guiding her hips.

When she would have collapsed on his chest, he sat up to hold her upright and flush against his chest. He used his hands to thrust her hips down onto him and her cries continued. Every second seemed to bring some new and astounding experience. Only a few thrusts after her orgasm, she could tell by the way he tightened his grip that he was about to reach his own release.

She whimpered.

She could feel the pulsing of his cock inside of her and she couldn't help but thrust her hips into him. She would have to ask him later if she should hold still while he came inside of her. But for right now, she let her body lead her as he moaned, clutched her tightly, and buried his face in her neck.

They collapsed into a heap on the bed. There was only heavy breathing for a few moments before she looked at him and started to laugh. He joined her immediately and pulled her close.

"I don't know much about it," she wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, "but I think we did very well for our first time."

He rubbed his face and nodded, waiting for his laughter to subside.

"Well," he seemed to think on it, "I have some notes for you," he said.

She smacked his shoulder as hard as she could in her position and laughed as she said,

"You ass!"


End file.
